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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073373">Don't Touch the Merchandise</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/seikaitsukimizu/pseuds/seikaitsukimizu'>seikaitsukimizu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>S.A.M. (Simulated Alternate Multiverses) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Mass Effect: Andromeda</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Biotics (Mass Effect), M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 13:00:40</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,133</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/seikaitsukimizu/pseuds/seikaitsukimizu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing was free on Kadara. </p>
<p>Just as well, or Scott would never have found his worth as a dancer. He is the only male dancer, and that makes him a bit of a spectacle. </p>
<p>Better one as a dancer than the failed savior of the Nexus.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Male Ryder | Scott/Reyes Vidal</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>S.A.M. (Simulated Alternate Multiverses) [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1892863</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don't Touch the Merchandise</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Like its namesake Tartarus has no quiet dark corners. Even on the upper level, far from the sound systems it’s impossible to escape the irregular bass and asychrotic noise that passed as music for the bar. And, in fairness, all the corners were dark. Tartarus has as little light as possible, for the smugglers, for the abandoned, for the condemned. Its drinks are just as bleak, but when one wants to bleach their taste buds and forget their infinite troubles, the liquid is as good as ambrosia...for a few credits.</p>
<p>Nothing was free on Kadara.</p>
<p>Just as well, or Scott would never have found his worth as a dancer. Oh, he isn’t as graceful or hypnotic as the asari, or perfectly attuned to the music as the salarians, or even as sexy as the human women. He is, however, unique. The only human man; muscled, lithe, slightly ungraceful but definitely passionate. He couldn’t move to the beat, but he can throw himself around the cage, he can mimic martial arts to show off his skin, and, so he’d been told, he can shake his ass better than any asari.</p>
<p>The fact that no one notices him take in everything through half-lidded eyes is a bonus. That people spoke while ignoring dancers like they were nothing but vids is a fantastic perk. And though they aren’t cats, angaran seemed almost magnetically pulled to him, often leaving him the best tips. A few of his fellow human exiles, too. He <em> is </em> the only male dancer, and that makes him a bit of a spectacle.</p>
<p>Better one as a dancer than the failed savior of the Nexus.</p>
<p>At that, he relaxes against the couch and takes a long drink of what, in a previous incarnation, could have almost generously been called rotgut. He tilts his head back as it burns down his throat and lets out a slow breath through his nose. He’d just finished a six hour shift, and the sweat from his body has faded to a thin sheen on his sun-tanned skin.</p>
<p>His cage is prime real estate: fairly central, able to see almost everything in Tartarus, and be seen as well. He’d paid Kian, the barkeep and theoretical owner, handsomely when the place had first opened. Back before there were bars on the front of the dance stages. Back when customers could get a little too close for a few extra credits. Back when Cele, the asari on the platform next to him, had Thrown a turian across the room for trying to ‘embrace eternity’ without paying.</p>
<p>The jerk had broken a mandible and all three fingers of his right hand. After that Kian decided the jail cell look worked better as a theme.</p>
<p>They knew to leave him alone outside the cage, though. Oh, he had some clientele he allowed to approach, but he’d made it very clear that while he was a dancer, when he wasn’t behind the bars he was fully capable of hurling a man over the side of the railing. That was the last time <em> any </em> drunken angaran had gotten handsy with him without permission, and everyone else got the message.</p>
<p>In the cage he is Incubus, the rest of the time he’s Scott Fuckin’ Ryder, and he would <em> break you </em> if looked at the wrong way. His whole life has gone to shit and when he’s off the clock he’s <em> off the clock </em> unless invited.</p>
<p>So, still cooling off and almost done with his drink, he narrows his eyes as someone approaches him. It’s a regular, a smuggler with admittedly gorgeous ochre skin, amber eyes that could pin a man at fifty paces, and black hair thick enough to dig your fingers into. It’s a man Scott always watched out for, his tips were always generous, his gaze full of analytical lust…</p>
<p>And always speaking with his head turned away, as if he <em> knew </em> Scott could read lips. Always ducking his head with a hint of a smirk as he led his contacts just to the side, or facing the bar. It spoke of someone a little too in the know and a little too cautious. A smuggler, but one of the smarter ones on Kadara.</p>
<p>Especially since, from what Scott has gathered, he isn’t under Sloane’s thumb.</p>
<p>Their gazes had been meeting for months. Whenever Scott danced it seemed mid-shift the man would nonchalantly walk in, order a drink, and pan the room before zeroing in on Incubus. There was always some business he had to get to, too, but always with fifteen, twenty minutes beforehand when Scott could feel that almost golden gaze locked on him and his routine.</p>
<p>Cele had said the man came in even when Scott wasn’t there, that he spoke with other dancers sometimes. Left them tips, some as high as ten, even twenty credits.</p>
<p>He always left Scott with at least fifty, not a single word spoken between them.</p>
<p>It appears that’s about to change.</p>
<p>“You’re looking like you’re waiting for someone to buy you a drink,” was the opening line in a honeyed tone. Scott snorts and pushes himself up from his reclined pose.</p>
<p>“Really? Four months and <em> that’s </em> what you open with?”</p>
<p>The smirk is exactly like all the other ones he’s given Scott. “Just trying to be polite.” He’s staying a respectful five feet away, arms crossed but not in a defensive manner.</p>
<p>Scott has to give him credit. This smuggler is a master of his own body language. “Not looking for polite. This is Tartarus.” He throws back the last of his drink and drops the empty cup beside him on the couch. “Make me an offer or fuck off.”</p>
<p>“If you insist.” He nods his head towards a door a few feet away. Scott knows it’s a private office, though he thought it belonged to Kian. “I was hoping for a private dance. I’m afraid I missed your performance today.”</p>
<p>A half-lie. Scott had felt those eyes on him, but only for the last ten minutes of his shift. Still, looking him up and down, Scott wouldn’t mind having all this man’s attention on him without distraction. He tilts his chin up and licks his bottom lip. “A thousand credits.”</p>
<p>The laugh is brief and, to Scott’s ears, jovial, but the look is shrewd, sharp. “Two hundred.”</p>
<p>It’s Scott’s turn to laugh. He knows his worth, and it’s not that low. Even for a regular tipper. “If that’s all you’ve got, fuck off.” He goes to step away, but the man holds up his hands, locking his eyes with Scott’s.</p>
<p>“I didn’t mean any insult. I’m a trader-”</p>
<p>“Smuggler,” Scott interrupts.</p>
<p>The man shrugs, hands lowering. “Just trying to get a range for haggling.”</p>
<p>Scott narrows his eyes then. “And you think I’m worth <em> only </em> 200 credits?”</p>
<p>“Of course not!” He sounds, if anything, almost offended at Scott’s words.</p>
<p>“Then why-”</p>
<p>“Just a starting place. I’m a smuggler. I haggle.”</p>
<p>Scott breaks his own rules then, moves close enough so he’s chest-to-chest with the man. “Alright <em> smuggler, </em> ” he growls, “what <em> am </em> I worth?”</p>
<p>Something flickers behind those beautiful eyes, something dark and, Scott senses, dangerous. The smirk vanishes momentarily, before he answers, “More than a thousand.”</p>
<p>Scott huffs and takes a step back, crossing his arms. “Good. Now try again.”</p>
<p>The man eyes him up and down again, as if he hasn’t already memorized Scott’s body, before that smirk slides onto his face and says, “Five hundred.”</p>
<p>It takes a few seconds for Scott to sense the teasing in the tone and he bites back a laugh. He’s got balls, Scott will give him that. “Bastard.” The smirk grows into a grin, and Scott decides, for his best tipper, he can give the guy a <em> little </em> break. “You’ll pay seven-fifty. And no touching the merchandise,” he declares gruffly.</p>
<p>“Just like usual.”</p>
<p>It’s Scott’s turn to smirk then. “That’s what you think.” He swings his arm as if pitching an underhanded throw. “Lead the way.”</p>
<p>“Of course. Age before beauty.” And then he’s turned his back on Scott and walks straight to the private room, not even checking to see if he’ll follow.</p>
<p>Scott shakes his head. He’s a god-damned idiot for giving in. Still, the extra credits will help, and it’s not like he can’t take care of himself, no matter what Drack says. He follows the stranger into the room, and the man swans over to the couch, crossing one leg over his knee and stretches his arms along the back as if he’s some noble lord, not a lowly smuggler.</p>
<p>That’s probably the moment Scott decides he’s going to take this man <em> down </em> a peg a two. “Half up front,” he says as the doors close behind him.</p>
<p>“Of course.” He activates his omnitool, and Scott checks his own. He keeps it with him at all times, even when dancing. Better to be with it if a crisis erupts than not, even in the cage.</p>
<p>When Scott looks up from confirming the funds transfer, the smuggler’s back in his regal pose, watching him with a smirk and dancing eyes. He’s activating his own music program when he asks, “What should I call you?”</p>
<p>There’s a glimpse of surprise before the smug mask hides it again. “Anubis will do.”</p>
<p>A rhythmic beat with rumbling synth starts enveloping the room, and again Scott can’t help but snort. “Tartarus. Anubis. Pretty dumb name.”</p>
<p>“No more than Incubus.”</p>
<p>“Hey, for all you know I <em> am </em> a sex demon.”</p>
<p>“I’m not so sure.” Still smirking, even a hint of a laugh with the challenge.</p>
<p>Oh, it is <em> on. </em> Scott lets his smirk turn downright devilish, and he digs deep down to his Alliance days, when he’d perfected, what his sister laughingly called, his smoldering gaze. He doesn’t bother with his hips. They’ll move to the sound eventually. He starts instead with his vest. It’s simple, a stark navy against a black shirt. All that remains of his Alliance jacket, not to mention matching the blue stripe that goes down the sides of his cargo pants.</p>
<p>Once he’s peeled it off, he tosses it carelessly to the side. Anubis’s smug attitude hasn’t shifted, but his gaze has turned a little hungry. Scott sways to the beat, drawing his hands up slowly along his sides, over his chest and bringing them around his head to clasp his hands behind his neck. He skips an undershirt when dancing, and knows like this the outlines of his muscles are just tantalized beneath the fabric.</p>
<p>Anubis’ gaze slips down to where Scott’s shirt has ridden up slightly, before roving up the plane of his chest and settling on the ring of hexagonal honeycombs starting low on his neck. Most people don’t get to see how low they go. As the gaze starts drifting down again, Scott shifts his grip to the shirt and quickly pulls it up and over his head.</p>
<p>He has a moment of indecision, unsure where to toss the shirt in the unfamiliar environment, before balling it up and haphazardly tossing it towards his vest. It’s hardly an enchanting move.</p>
<p>Anubis seems to agree. He isn’t laughing out loud, but his shoulders are shaking and he’s barely hiding the mirth. “Graceful.”</p>
<p>Scott feels his cheeks flush briefly. It takes him a few minutes to get the smouldering look back, but his body takes to the music fairly quickly. This time the swaying has purpose, leading him slowly closer and closer to the once-more entranced Anubis.</p>
<p>He can see the man examine his tattoos. The honeycomb covers the top of his chest and shoulders, like the ancient chainmail mantles of knights. When he’d graduated, it seemed appropriate. Hurt like a bitch even with modern aesthetics, but when it had healed the quasi-digital look of armor seemed to emphasize the breadth of his shoulders and frame the lean muscle of his triceps.</p>
<p>Then there were the trailing lines that seemed to lead down in the middle of his chest, almost a teasing trickle of ink that lead down to his abdomen and, as past partners had commented on, almost like a mirror of the abdominal hair below. And Scott was glad to see Anubis' attentions were drawn just as easily as others.</p>
<p>He was merely two feet away when Anubis broke his appreciative stare to look Scott in the eye. “You are even more beautiful than I imagined.”</p>
<p>That...is not what he was expecting to hear. Oh, people have called Scott beautiful before, even while he was dancing, but there’s a note of sincerity that he can’t quite translate. It throws him for the second time that night, but while his mind stalls his body at least keeps to the rhythm he’d set.</p>
<p>He comes back to himself as he plants his foot on the edge of the bench, just beside the crossed leg. Blinking a couple times, he leans forward and dips his head down, sliding it upward until he’s nose to nose with his client and, oh so deliberately, licks his lips. “Still not an Incubus?”</p>
<p>“It’s a close call,” he murmurs, lifting a hand from the back of the couch to glide a mere inch above his arm, over his shoulder, before settling it in the crook of his neck. “<em> Definitely </em> worth more than a thousand.”</p>
<p>Scott leans forward then, bracing one hand on his knee and the other on the back of the couch as his mouth hovers next to Anubis’ ear. “Especially,” he whispers, “if you want to <em> touch </em> the merchandise.”</p>
<p>He feels Anubis’ hand tense, but before he can pull away Scott lets the blue glow flash from his eyes, his shoulders his back. He shoves away from the couch and flares his hands. Anubis’ hand came away as he moved, but the dark energy has grabbed hold of the arm--both of them--and pins them to the back of the couch. Not as effortlessly regal, but in a parody of the pose.</p>
<p>And Scott, for the first time, sees a flicker of uncertainty in the man’s eyes. A touch of darkness and intrigue, but there’s worry as well. Scott has always kept his biotic abilities out of his dances. The asari covers that angle enough, and those that don’t know <em> who </em> he is underestimate his ability.</p>
<p>Like Anubis.</p>
<p>Scott eyes him, arms pinned to the couch. The man is tense, but isn’t struggling or panicing or even demanding to be set free. He’s...waiting, assessing. Scott nods once. “I warned you.”</p>
<p>“Yes. I am sorry. It’s just, you are so…”</p>
<p>Scott really shouldn’t have, but that has never stopped him before. He slinks over to the couch, kneels on its cushions, and leans against the back, the mass effect field the only thing keeping his skin from touching Anubis’ arm. “So what,” he asks in a teasing voice. “Beautiful?”</p>
<p>“<em> Enticing,” </em>is the heated response. “And dangerous.” At Scott’s pointedly raised eyebrow, Anubis shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have asked for a private session. You’re a...distraction.”</p>
<p>Scott tilts his head as he pretends to think about it, then slides over so he’s straddling Anubis’ now uncrossed legs. The man tenses again, but Scott leans down, nose once again inches from the smuggler’s, and says just as heatedly, “<em> Good.” </em></p>
<p>Anubis sucks in a breath at that.</p>
<p>And truth be told, if his omnitool hadn’t chosen just that moment to remind him that their time was up, Scott is half convinced he’d’ve kissed the man. He’s still tempted to. But that, that broke <em> so </em>many rules.</p>
<p>Instead he brushes his cheek against the pinned man’s briefly and breathily whispers in his ear, “If you want to <em> handle </em> the merchandise, you pay full price. Got it?”</p>
<p>“Message received,” is the rumbled reply.</p>
<p>“Glad we understand each other,” Scott replies, pulling away and standing up.</p>
<p>Some of the bravado has come back to Anubis’ personality, because he simply crosses his legs and assumes the regal pose once more, seeming to ignore the fact that his arms are pinned. Still, Scott can feel the eyes on him as he pulls on his shirt and picks up his vest.</p>
<p>It’s only as he’s ready to go that he turns back to Anubis and releases control of the dark energy. The man doesn’t jump to his feet or jerk his arms to test them. He stays put, gaze roving over Scott like it had when they’d first entered the room. And Scott, Scott feels something in him squirm under that scrutiny.</p>
<p>“A <em> very </em> satisfying private dance,” the dulcet voice finally says, calmly folding his arms in to pull up his omnitool. “There’s a little extra. An apology,” he offers graciously, leaning back again, “for...touching without permission.”</p>
<p>Scott is tempted to check his account immediately, but he isn’t going to be baited into it by this man. Instead his mind flashes to feeling the muscular thighs of this man between his own and a flush spreads up his chest. “Thank you. Be sure to tip Kian for the room before you go.” He pivots to step out the door when the hairs on the back of his neck spring up. He hears an almost silent thump and then-</p>
<p>“Until next time,” Anubis’ breath tickles his ear, “<em> Incubus.” </em> He can feel the man <em> hovering, looming </em> just behind him, not bigger but a bigger <em> presence </em> that has Scott’s hackles and nerves rise as he turns-</p>
<p>The door behind him opens and, with a nudge, he stumbles back. The last thing he sees is that infuriating smirk and a genial wave as the metal doors slide shut and he is again alone.</p>
<p>Not alone. He’s in Tartarus. His heart is hammering from that sudden spike of adrenaline, from that momentary instant of fear and powerlessness, and that damned squirming in his gut that makes him want to strangle and kiss that damned, arrogant...<em> smuggler! </em></p>
<p>He wobbles one step, two before he gets comfortable in his own body again and tucks himself into the corner next to the upper door exit. With just a few deep breaths he has his heart under control and feels like he can walk out without tripping.</p>
<p>Before he does, though, knowing that Anubis could step out at any moment, he can’t help but check his account. He expects an extra fifty credits, maybe a hundred on top of the remaining balance. Somewhere around eight hundred for the day.</p>
<p>No, there’s a thousand credits deposited.</p>
<p>Not just a thousand for the session, a thousand on top of the almost four hundred deposit up front.</p>
<p>Fourteen hundred credits.</p>
<p>That low-ball haggling <em> son of a bitch! </em></p>
<p>Next time they meet he’s either going to punch Anubis in the nose or kiss him senseless, and he honestly didn’t know which.</p>
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